From evolution to climate change, the real culture wars are about language, not science. To win these wars, science needs to change the way it talks about knowledge.
Creationists and fans of ‘intelligent design’ have a guerrilla tactic to undermine textbooks that don’t conform to their beliefs. They slap a sticker on the cover that reads, “Evolution is a theory, not a fact, regarding the origin of living things.”
This is the central argument of evolution deniers: evolution is an unproven ‘theory’. For science-savvy people, this is an incredibly annoying ploy. While it’s true that scientists refer to evolution as a theory, in science the word ‘theory’ means an explanation of how the world works that has stood up to repeated, rigorous testing. It’s hardly a term of disparagement.
But for most people, theory means a haphazard guess you’ve pulled out of your, uh, hat. It’s an insult, really, a glib way to dismiss a point of view: “Ah, well, that’s just your theory.” Scientists use ‘theory’ in one specific way, the public another ¬ and opponents of evolution have expertly exploited this disconnect.
Turns out, the real culture war in science isn’t about science at all ¬ it’s about language. And to fight this war, we need to change the way we talk about scientific knowledge.
Scientists are already pondering this. Last summer, Australian-born physicist Helen Quinn sparked a lively debate with an essay arguing that scientists are too tentative when they discuss scientific knowledge. They’re an inherently cautious bunch, she points out. Even when they’re 99 per cent certain of a theory, they know there’s always the chance that a new discovery could overturn or modify it.
So when scientists talk about well-established bodies of knowledge – particularly in areas like evolution or relativity – they hedge their bets. They say they “believe” something to be true, as in, “We believe that the Jurassic period was characterised by humid tropical weather.”
This deliberately nuanced language gets horribly misunderstood and often twisted in public discourse. When the average person hears phrases like “scientists believe”, they read it as, “Scientists can’t really prove this stuff, but they take it on faith.” After all, “That’s just what you believe” is a common way to dismiss someone out-of-hand.
Of course, anti-evolution crusaders have figured out that language is the ammunition of culture wars. That’s why they love plugging words such as ‘theory’ in science. They take the intellectual strengths of scientific language ¬ its precision, its carefulness ¬ and wield them as weapons against science itself.
There is a defence against this: a revamped scientific lexicon. If the anti-evolutionists insist on exploiting the public’s misunderstanding of words such as ‘theory’ and ‘believe’, then we shouldn’t fight it. “We need to be a bit less cautious in public when we’re talking about scientific conclusions that are generally agreed upon,” Quinn argues.
What does she suggest? For truly solid-gold, well-established science, let’s stop using the word ‘theory’ entirely. Instead, let’s revive much more venerable language and refer to such knowledge as ‘law’.
As with Newton’s law of gravity, people intuitively understand that a law is a rule that holds true and must be obeyed. The word law conveys precisely the same sense of authority with the public as ‘theory’ does with scientists, but without the linguistic baggage.
Evolution is solid. We even base the vaccine industry on it: when we troop into the doctor’s office each winter to get a flu shot ¬ an inoculation against the latest evolved strains of the disease ¬ we’re treating evolution as a law. So why not just say ‘the law of evolution’?
Best of all, it performs a neat bit of linguistic jujitsu. If someone says, “I don’t believe in the theory of evolution,” they may sound reasonable. However, if they announce, “I don’t believe in the law of evolution,” they sound insane. It’s tantamount to saying, “I don’t believe in the law of gravity.”
It’s time to realise that we’re simply never going to school enough of the public in the precise scientific meaning of particular words. We’re never going to fully communicate what’s beautiful and noble about scientific caution and rigour. Public discourse is inevitably political, so we need to talk about science in a way that wins the political battle ¬ in no uncertain terms.
At least, that’s my theory.